


'Client Billing 2012'

by sunken_standard



Series: Obscene Dreams in Rusty Beds [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, PWP, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 01:25:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunken_standard/pseuds/sunken_standard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John finds something Sherlock accidentally left open on his computer.  He really shouldn't watch it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Client Billing 2012'

**Author's Note:**

> Plot? Who needs it? Have some het porn with a side of voyeur John. Standalone, but can be read as being in the same 'verse as [Longer Than the Road That Stretches Out Ahead](http://archiveofourown.org/works/434802) or far in the future from [Obscene Dreams in Rusty Beds](http://archiveofourown.org/works/380777). Beta'd by the ever-awesome [maybe_amanda](http://archiveofourown.org/users/maybe_amanda/pseuds/maybe_amanda); not Brit-picked.
> 
> (Now officially part of a series, third in chronological order.)

John found the DVD when he was tidying the desk. It was marked 'Client Billing 2012' in Sherlock's blocky scrawl, the ink streaky because the marker pen was drying out. He set it on Sherlock's pile and moved on to another stack of unopened mail (and of course there were bills in there; Sherlock couldn't be arsed to open anything unless it was a mysterious letter written on expensive, foreign stationery).

 

He thought nothing of it for days, until he liberated his laptop from Sherlock's bedroom to write up their latest case. Sherlock was off to Bart's for an experiment, so John was looking forward to typing without Sherlock (literally) breathing down his neck.

 

There were four folders, six files, and two different web browsers already open; he started saving and closing them out so he could work on his document without all Sherlock's crap to distract him. When he got to the folder labelled 'D: Client Billing 2012,' he paused. It contained one .mp4 marked 'Untitled' and nothing more, no subfolders or saved invoices or scans of cheques like he'd been expecting.

 

He really shouldn't open the file. It was obviously something Sherlock wanted to keep hidden. Then again, maybe not, since he left the folder open in the first place. Could be something related to a case that had been mislabelled (and Sherlock would never admit it, but he'd done it before; if he was distracted by something in the middle of a mundane task, he sometimes made mistakes like anybody else). It was John's computer, after all, and Sherlock made no bones about going through his things, so it wouldn't be entirely unfair; he double-clicked the file and waited for the video to start.

 

It began innocuously enough; a white bedsheet and part of a pale, hairy leg in a softly-lit room and the sound of quiet breathing while someone fooled with the zoom and exposure. This went on for twenty seconds or so before a (very familiar) frustrated noise came from the person on the bed as the leg shifted out of view.

 

"Oh for God's sake, give it here!"

 

There was one vertigo-inducing moment when the camera spun as it was shifted from the original operator to Sherlock; the image went fuzzy and resolved itself into a clear shot angled down a sculpted torso, kneeling on the bed with knees spread. A slightly-engorged cock dangled from a nest of dark hair.

 

Oh Christ. There was no way that could be what he thought it was. Well, Sherlock's prick, obviously, but past that, he was not watching a sex tape made by his flatmate.

 

"Honestly Molly, it's not rocket science. There," Sherlock said as he began panning upwards over pale thighs.

 

No. Impossible. Or, well, improbable. He knew they'd spent a lot of time together in those months they never talk about, and that they'd grown closer, but _that_ close?

 

Two thin, bony hands fluttered uncertainly over a thatch of dark brown pubic hair.

 

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this. God, this better not end up on the internet."

 

"I'll erase it later," Sherlock murmured, taking one of her hands and pulling it aside (tenderly swiping his thumb over the knuckles as he did so) to get a better view of her body.

 

The camera began to move again, over bony hips and the slight convex curve of a belly, then up to small breasts that had just begun to show the effects of gravity on the ageing female form. One pale pink nipple was slightly higher than the other, and they were still soft and pointed; Sherlock's hand moved to cover, then cup one of her breasts.

 

"Mm," she hummed, equal parts non-committal and that-feels-nice.

 

He told himself he really should stop watching, close out the video and pretend like he never saw it. As it stood, he'd be hard-pressed to be able to look Sherlock in the eye when he got home, let alone Molly the next time a case took them to Bart's.

 

What was worse, his hind-brain had recognized the image of a naked woman and decided that this was something John should be interested in. The first flush of arousal washed through his body and settled heavily in his gut.

 

A soft sigh from Molly, little more than an exhaled breath, drew his attention back to the screen.

 

Long fingers traced the curve of her breast while Sherlock thumbed a tightening nipple. She stretched out an arm, presumably to touch him in return. The camera followed his hand as it trailed up over her collar bone, her neck, her jaw, then focussed on her face. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and darted to the camera (and it was like she was looking right at John for a split-second) before returning to the man behind it.

 

He wondered if this was how Sherlock saw Molly all the time now. Gone was the mousy, pitiable woman always hovering around the edges of their field of view; she was the sole focus of the video in front of him and it suited her. Her face was slightly flushed and she nibbled her bottom lip, already darker and plumper with arousal. Her hair hung loose about her shoulders, a prominent wave in it from where it had been tied back all day. She looked like the sweet and sexy kind of girl that drove a man (or, well, John, at any rate) wild.

 

Sherlock's fingers brushed her mouth and she smiled slightly as she kissed his fingertips; her lips parted and John saw a hint of pink tongue and white teeth as she sucked the tip of his finger into her mouth. Sherlock made a rumbling little noise of approval; Molly's eyes flicked to the camera again before closing.

 

 _This is wrong_ , John told himself. The evidence that Sherlock was, in fact, a sexual person was right in front of him and answered a question he'd never directly asked the man himself; that should really be enough. He couldn't seem to look away, though. He'd been... curious about Sherlock's proclivities ever since that first night, and even more so after the Irene Adler fiasco.

 

On the screen, Sherlock's finger slipped from Molly's mouth; she leaned forward and the frame zoomed out. Her body was a dark blur as John heard the sounds of a heated kiss, and then the camera was moving again, quickly showing what John thought was the interior of Sherlock's bedroom before coming to rest on Sherlock's face.

 

Sherlock wore the same impassive expression that he always had when concentrating on something in front of him; in this case, fiddling with the camera. His irises were thin rings of blue around blown black pupils and for once he actually had a bit of colour to his cheeks.

 

John felt his cock twitch in his pants and he shifted on his chair. Just a normal human response to seeing another person sexually aroused, he told himself.

 

Molly's hands crept onto Sherlock's shoulders, just visible on the edges of the frame.

 

"What are you doing that for?" Molly asked.

 

Apparently satisfied with whatever he'd done, the image moved again as Sherlock repositioned the camera at arm's length and twisted his body to fully face Molly.

 

"The whole point of filming this is to see what it looks like from a different perspective," Sherlock said, checking the camera (he must have flipped the view screen around, John reasoned), correcting so less of his arm was in the shot and their faces were more centred. His tone was flat, but the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement.

 

Before she could respond, Sherlock turned his head and kissed her. It was quick but gentle, almost absent-minded; a place-holder. He adjusted the camera one more time before dipping his head to kiss her properly.

 

John pressed his lips together and sucked them between his teeth, running his tongue along the seam as he chewed them. Watching Sherlock kiss was surreal -- it didn't seem like something he would be interested in doing. He certainly was interested, though, his mouth teasing Molly's as his eyes slid closed, sucking and teething her bottom lip before tilting his head and sealing his open mouth fully over hers.

 

It was the kind of easy, familiar kiss shared by lovers who knew exactly what the other liked. John wondered about the nature of the relationship and how long it had been going on -- it had to have started sometime after Christmas, but had they begun before Sherlock's suicide, or in the months he was thought dead, or after his return?

 

On screen, Molly's fingers toyed with the curls at Sherlock's nape, her other hand somewhere out of the frame. She broke the kiss and mouthed over Sherlock's jaw, her face obscured by the angle of the camera. Sherlock tilted his head to grant her better access.

 

God, Sherlock looked so wrecked already, face flushed and eyes closed, his parted lips kiss-dark and shiny, his shoulders rising (and the camera moving) with each irregular breath.

 

"Lie down," Sherlock mumbled, nuzzling his cheek against her temple.

 

Molly worked her way back to Sherlock's mouth and kissed him again before complying; she moved out of the frame and John only caught a glimpse of her arse as the camera panned past her. The shot stabilized for a moment before Sherlock did a sweep of Molly's naked form.

 

Her knees were pressed together, drawn up and tilting toward Sherlock. Her hands rested on her stomach; she reclined against the headboard and a pillow supported her back. She looked like someone forcing themselves to appear relaxed rather than someone trying to look sexy. Her deep-set eyes flicked again from the area of Sherlock's face to the lens of the camera.

 

And that shouldn't have been as arousing as it was (even if John's own preference in viewing material did lean toward the amateur); Molly's earnest vulnerability was usually something he found a bit sad.

 

Sherlock kept the camera trained on Molly as he shuffled around to rest by her ankles; she followed his movement with a slight turn of her head. From that angle John got a better view of her legs and the curve of her arse, the faint dimpling of cellulite noticeable even with the soft lighting and the low resolution of the laptop screen.

 

Sherlock's long, bony hand slid up her shin and rested on her knee, giving it a little squeeze before stroking back down the outside of her calf. He gripped her ankle and tugged gently on her leg until she straightened it to lie flat on the bed; she moved her other foot to bracket Sherlock's body, keeping her knee bent and leaning it inward to obscure the view.

 

Sherlock shifted forward, balancing with one hand on her ankle while he used the elbow of the arm holding the camera to nudge her knee out of the way. Molly's fingers twitched on her stomach, probably fighting the urge to cover herself; her pink labia minora just peeked out from the dark seam of her sex.

 

There was something so erotic - so anticipatory - to that first glimpse of a woman. John exhaled harshly, quickly reaching down to adjust himself through his jeans. He didn't let his hand linger, even though he wanted to.

 

Sherlock's body forced her legs farther apart as he moved closer still; he caressed the inside of her thigh, kneading the flesh before moving higher. The camera zoomed in until the frame was focussed on Molly's vulva. Sherlock's thumb brushed her labia minora, parting them to run the length of the sensitive insides, then rubbing a gentle swirl over her clitoris.

 

"Oh, that's nice," Molly said, her voice soft and breathy.

 

"Just nice?" Sherlock teased, repeating the motion.

 

"Mm. Other things are nicer." Her hips shifted and her legs fell wider apart as she seemed to relax into the touch.

 

"I seem to recall being told 'patience is a virtue,' now where could I have heard that?" Sherlock's thumb continued to circle her clitoris while he spoke, his fingers pressing down and massaging her mound.

 

"Oh, stuff it, you," Molly said. The skin of her stomach creased and the frame went darker as she sat up.

 

The camera was jostled and Sherlock said with mock-appal, "Violence in the bedroom Molly? I hadn't thought you the type."

 

Molly chuckled low in her throat, the camera moving again before John heard the soft, wet sounds of a kiss. He wondered if they were smiling against each others' lips.

 

It was utterly bizarre; they were a _real_ couple. Comfortable enough with each other to make jokes during sex, they had to be. That, or they'd been friends with benefits for quite some time. Molly showed more personality in that thirty-second exchange than he'd seen her display in the three years he'd known her, and Sherlock... Well, it wasn't how he'd pictured Sherlock being behind closed doors (not that he _had_ pictured him, but after Irene Adler he may have speculated a bit). He always thought Sherlock would be more awkward and reserved, rigid spine and shaky hands and an air of cool detachment; he'd obviously missed the mark quite a bit.

 

On screen, Molly settled back into the same reclining position.

 

"Here," Sherlock said, the frame tilting and shaking a bit as Molly took the camera from his hand. "That one's the zoom, don't touch any of the others."

 

The doors, framed periodic table, and window were light blurs against the darkness of the room as Molly flipped the camera around to focus on Sherlock, quickly panning up from the bottom of his ribcage to frame his face.

 

His shoulders weren't as wide as they usually looked in his suits (which John had known, of course, but it always caught him off guard to see how slight Sherlock was under his clothing, even if he was well-muscled) and his hair was a fluffy mess, separating into dark strands from the dampness at his hairline. The dim lighting in the room softened his features and made his face appear fuller; he had a kind of fondness to his smile that made him look like a different man.

 

John's heart thudded hard in his chest and he didn't care to examine why.

 

Molly followed him with the camera (obviously no longer shy) as he bent over her to kiss her stomach; John could just make out the bobbing shape of Sherlock's erection before being hidden by the top of his head. She moved the camera again as Sherlock feathered more kisses up her stomach before nuzzling the underside of her breast.

 

John had a clear view of Sherlock's lips closing over Molly's nipple, dark red and tight with arousal. He could see the goosebumps on the pale flesh surrounding it. His mouth watered as he imagined himself in Sherlock's place, the wrinkled texture of the skin under his teeth and the creamy, sweet scent and taste of a woman's breasts settling on his soft palate.

 

Molly's breathy mewls of pleasure were interspersed with the soft noises made by Sherlock's mouth; Sherlock's jaw worked as he suckled. John imagined he was using his tongue, swirling over the nipple and flicking the underside, occasionally grazing it with his bottom teeth before biting down gently.

 

Sherlock's eyes drifted closed, his lashes casting dark shadows on his cheeks. One hand toyed with Molly's other breast, kneading and cupping and rolling the nipple between his fingers. His expression was that of sheer bliss (and for good reason, John thought).

 

Sherlock tugged on Molly's nipple with his lips over his teeth as he pulled away, her breast jiggling slightly when he released it. He gave her a look that was pure sex before dipping his head to work his way back down her body.

 

Molly repositioned the camera, probably held at about chest-level, to frame Sherlock's head as he moved to rest between her spread thighs. Sherlock reared up on his knees and looked behind him as he shuffled backwards, twisting around to move the bunched-up bedcovers out of the way. John got his first full view of Sherlock's prick, long and curved and dark, the foreskin only pulled back enough for the glistening red tip of the glans to show.

 

Sherlock turned back, completely unselfconscious, and sat back on his heels before folding his body over and slipping his arms under Molly's legs. He planted a very loud, smacking kiss to her inner thigh while he settled in to get comfortable (not John's preferred position, he'd rather be on the floor with a pillow under his knees and the woman's arse at the edge of the bed, but to each their own); John could see the flare of Sherlock's hips and the round of his arse rising from the line of his back. He wondered if Sherlock chose the position because Molly appreciated the view.

 

Sherlock dipped his head and nosed between the curls at the top of Molly's cleft; Molly's breath caught and she exhaled a soft, "Oh!" Sherlock pulled back enough for John to see his mouth open and his flattened tongue stretch past his teeth to swipe between her labia, ending with lips pursed over her clitoris in a sucking kiss.

 

He tilted his chin up and gave Molly a smouldering look while his tongue worked, ignoring the camera completely. Molly's breathing became heavier, erratic as she held her breath and released it with quiet little whines of pleasure; it made the perfect background for the frankly obscene wet noises from Sherlock's mouth.

 

Her hand moved to Sherlock's head, smoothing his curls back from his sweat-damp brow. She threaded her fingers through his hair as her hips rose to meet his mouth.

 

Sherlock removed one of the hands clamped over the tops of her thighs; from the movement of his upper body and shoulders, John could tell he was slowly fucking her with his fingers. The other hand migrated up her thigh and over her hip to press and massage the area just above her mound with his spidery fingers (which she must like; John filed the technique away for later use).

 

John shifted again in his chair, trying to find a position that lessened the strain of his erection against the heavy fabric of his jeans. He tugged the collar of his shirt but refused to undo any of the buttons on principle.

 

Sherlock quickened his pace as Molly took up a steady chant of ohs and oh-Gods and yeahs, the muscles in her thighs flexing and shaking. Sherlock's eyes never left her face. Molly strained against his mouth, abdominal muscles visibly quivering and the rest of her body drawn taut as a bowstring as her orgasm crested; she released a shaky breath as Sherlock slowed to longer, languorous licks while stilling the movement of his fingers inside her.

 

He stopped altogether when Molly pushed his head gently away, planting one last kiss to her clitoris before shifting back and giving her a Cheshire grin, his chin and cheeks shiny with moisture.

 

"Thank you," Molly said softly, running her fingertips over the side of his face. That was polite of her; John got the feeling that not many men had done it for her in the past. "C'mere."

 

Sherlock crawled up her body and the camera was momentarily cast aside, revealing a sideways view of the rumpled sheets and the footboard of Sherlock's bed, the line of Molly's leg just visible on the left-hand side of the screen.

 

John heard the sound of a very wet kiss, followed by a contentedly-murmured, "I love you," from Molly.

 

 _Oh_. John held his breath for what felt like an eternity before Sherlock hummed and rumbled, "Love you too," between kisses. It was something said easily and comfortably, not the first time those words had been exchanged.

 

John's face flushed from an irrational surge of anger mixed with a deep hurt; they _were_ a proper couple and Sherlock had never let on anything about it. So much for being his best ( _only_ , according to him) friend. Was it because Sherlock was ashamed of Molly and didn't want John to ridicule him (and if so, it stung to think Sherlock thought that little of him), or did he just not think it was any of John's business?

 

He _knew_ all that bullshit Sherlock spewed about love being a chemical defect and nothing but a hindrance was just that -- utter bullshit; now he had proof.

 

If Sherlock would have told him, John would have been happy for him. Everyone deserved to be loved by someone, no matter how much of an utter arse they could be. Even Sherlock (especially Sherlock, who practically oozed loneliness from his pores when he thought no one was paying attention). And Molly was a good sort; a little weird, but not someone who would ever intentionally hurt Sherlock.

 

He really shouldn't be watching this. It wasn't just two people he knew having sex, it was a truly intimate moment between two people in love.

 

Sherlock mumbled a question to Molly that John didn't quite catch, but it was enough to draw his attention back to the screen. The camera was moving again, flashing past Molly's legs before coming to settle on the same view up her body as he'd seen before.

 

Molly scooted down the bed to lie with her shoulders flat and her head on the pillow. She tipped her chin downward (pulling a weird kind of frowny-face) to watch as Sherlock inched forward between her legs. Sherlock trained the camera on her upper body for a moment as she propped herself up on her elbows, then back down to where he was getting into position.

 

Sherlock rested on his heels, his spread knees bracketing her arse and the tops of his thighs brushing the backs of hers. His cock jutted up from the tight curls of his pubic hair, foreskin fully retracted and the head bright red and slick; as John watched, a bead of precome welled up in the slit. Sherlock grabbed his cock and stroked, forcing the moisture up and out to ooze over the underside of his glans.

 

John's own traitorous prick jerked in sympathy, still hot and aching despite the mix of emotions he was feeling. He was a truly despicable person for not shutting the video off yet; his hand moved for the track pad to do just that when Sherlock's grip changed and he angled the head of his cock down to brush Molly's vulva.

 

God, she was wet, tiny drops clinging to her matted pubic hair and making her arousal-swollen labia shine with it; Sherlock ran the tip of his cock the length of her, up to rub her clitoris and back down, gathering the moisture before doing it again. He zoomed the shot in closer to focus on where his cock touched her.

 

Molly's hand joined his, swirling her fingertips over the glans before palming the underside, then covering his hand with hers and pushing him down to nudge at her entrance. Molly's hand withdrew and Sherlock pressed forward, the head of his cock disappearing inside her. He released a harsh breath when he stopped after a few inches, stilling for long moments before drawing back and pushing slowly in again.

 

 _She must be tight_ , John thought the second time Sherlock met resistance. Sherlock let go of his cock and gripped Molly's hip. His bollocks touched her arse on the third stroke; he bottomed out on the fourth. Molly moaned as he began a slow rhythm of shallow thrusts, only withdrawing two inches or so before sliding back in.

 

Molly's hand reappeared, stroking just above the line of his pubic hair with her fingertips.

 

"Kiss me," she said, her voice a throaty whine.

 

"Take-" Sherlock huffed a breath. "Take the camera."

 

The image wobbled and spun as the camera changed hands again; Molly trained it on where their bodies were joined as Sherlock's shadow fell across her torso. He planted his knuckles (one of them popping loudly) to either side of her waist and leaned into her, kissing her as he fucked her slowly.

 

The view wasn't great, dark and a bit blurry; it was as if Sherlock read John's mind when he grunted, "Wait."

 

He pulled back and pulled out of Molly (who made a little noise of annoyance), and then the camera was in his hands, the image swaying as it panned past the headboard and the lamp, stabilizing on a shot of Sherlock's chest. Sherlock twisted to the side to reveal the room, Molly's head just visible in the frame. He moved back in front of the camera and tilted it downward (probably propping the back end up with a book), then stepped away again. A few more minor adjustments and then Sherlock was across the space from the dresser to the bed in two long strides, giving John a brief view of the play of muscles under the skin of his back, arse, and thighs.

 

Molly was still propped up on her elbows, her face turning to follow Sherlock's movement. Her expression was blank; watchful, maybe. She smiled when Sherlock got on the bed and took up his former position, hooking an ankle over his calf as he lowered himself on top of her. She lay back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and drawing him down while kissing him; he balanced on one forearm as he reached a hand between their bodies. They broke the kiss and his hips surged forward, lips catching as they groaned into each other's mouths.

 

Sherlock withdrew his hand and planted it on the bed next to Molly's ribs, then began to move. Longer strokes this time, slower as he pulled back and faster on the inward thrust; his hand moved to smooth over Molly's hair and trace the contour of her cheek before cupping her jaw, all while his mouth worked over hers.

 

God, it was so _passionate_ , which shouldn't come as any surprise to him. Sherlock showed unbounded enthusiasm when it came to mysteries; John supposed it would follow that love could evoke the same reaction (considering that up until then, he'd been of the opinion that romantic love was a mystery to Sherlock; there could still be some overlap).

 

Sherlock broke the kiss to bury his face against Molly's shoulder, murmuring words that John couldn't quite make out; Molly's knees pulled up, her thighs squeezing Sherlock's hips. Her arms threaded under his and she dug her fingers into his back. He moved the hand that had been touching Molly's face to palm her arse and grab her hip; he groaned and sped up his pace. Molly looked over to the camera, biting her lip before throwing her head back to expose the column of her neck.

 

"Oh _fuck_ ," she moaned as he mouthed over her throat.

 

John thought he shouldn't be surprised that Molly had a mouth on her; it was always the quiet, demure ones. He was surprised at Sherlock's answering groan to the affirmative and the way he hunched into her. Wouldn't have pegged him for that particular kink. Worked for John, though.

 

It was a testament to the quality of Sherlock's mattress and the heavy construction of the bed frame that they weren't rattling the pictures on the walls. Molly clung to Sherlock, her whole body moving with his powerful thrusts. John vividly remembered that kind of sex, being so desperate for a woman that slow and sensual wasn't enough and he needed to hear the gasps and moans and shrieks fucked right out of her.

 

And god, were they loud. No way he could have been home when the tape was made, or Mrs. Hudson for that matter. Well, maybe Mrs. Hudson, if it was after her soother. Sherlock was a whiner, tortured little 'hah' sounds issuing from his throat at semi-regular intervals. Molly was more vocal, urgently pleading with more of the same combinations of oh-gods and yeahs as before, only at a higher volume and now interspersed with oh-fucks.

 

"Close," Sherlock croaked, loud enough for the camera to pick up.

 

Not much in the way of stamina; but then, sex that intense usually didn't last very long.

 

"Inside me, oh god, do it inside me," Molly panted, crossing her legs at the ankles just below Sherlock's arse.

 

John leaned forward in his chair. Given the choice, he'd never pull out. Not that he went without condoms very often, god knows he didn't want to repeat his father's mistakes, but there were occasions in the past...

 

Sherlock moved his head to turn toward the camera, his face beetroot-red and sweaty and partly concealed by Molly's shoulder. His pace stayed the same until his hips stuttered; his muscles tensed as he strained against Molly. He hissed an inhalation through his bared teeth and exhaled another groan. A few more sedate thrusts and he pulled back just enough to kiss Molly, removing his hand from where it had clamped onto her hip to touch the side of her face.

 

John sat back and blew out a breath; he ran his hand over his face and blinked a few times before tapping the trackpad to finally close the video, now showing them kissing and nuzzling their way through the afterglow. Christ, he couldn't believe he just watched that. Or how turned on he was, when he really shouldn't be.

 

This was certainly going to make dinner awkward.

 

 


End file.
